


Under the Skin

by Tibbins



Series: True Faces [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conversations, Hell Trauma, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Castiel, Past Abuse, Past Alastair/Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s13e13 Devil's Bargain, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 17:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13769229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibbins/pseuds/Tibbins
Summary: Sequel to 'Behind the Mask' and 'In the Mind'. Set after 13x13. During a slow day, Castiel takes the opportunity to discover the cause of the new dynamic in the bunker. Destiel.





	Under the Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Sorry about the long wait, I really struggled with this one.  
> It's set pretty much just after 13x13.
> 
> Warnings for dark themes, a bunch of Hell mentions, past Alastair/Dean and all of that unhealthiness.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

After making it through the next few days without either brother actually having an aneurysm, something that he had been truly concerned about during his explanation of the situation with Lucifer and Asmodeus, Castiel finally felt able to relax, however slightly. He sat at the desk in his room, thumbing through a novel, the first recreational activity he had enjoyed in quite a while. But right now, there wasn't much else for him to do.

Donatello had slowly consumed over twenty buckets of chicken wings, and was still going strong, snapping at them if they tried to draw him away from his task without another offering of chicken; although he was currently out, he had left the demon tablet on the table, taking only his notebook and his wallet and the keys to a ford in the garage. None of them had tried to stop him, the prophet had been working almost non-stop for the past three days, they couldn't exactly begrudge him a break. Sam was in the library, poring through the shelves for anything that might be useful. Dean… well, Dean was probably either in his room or the armoury.

Castiel really hadn't seen much of Dean since he'd come back, he didn't think Dean was avoiding him exactly, they'd had several conversations over the past few days, but he seemed to be avoiding  _something_. Perhaps he still felt guilty over not recognising that the person on the other end of the phone had not in fact been him. Castiel pressed his lips together. It served nothing to be angry, and yet he was. He had known the Winchesters for a long time, he had fought at their sides for almost a decade, they had argued, discussed, laughed, grieved and triumphed together more times than Castiel cared to count. Perhaps Asmodeus was a good shape-shifter, but it hadn't been his image that the brothers had been fooled by. That, at least he might have understood. They didn't have his ability to see the Prince of Hell within and it was far easier to be fooled when you were  _looking_  at what your mind told you was your friend. No, instead they had been tricked by a voice on the phone. Asmodeus didn't know Castiel very well, presumably only by reputation, it's not as though they had ever had a prolonged conversation. There was no conceivable way that Asmodeus had been able to pick up on how he spoke to the Winchesters or how frequently, on the terms that he favoured or the inflections he used. He just didn't know him well enough to emulate those things, so yes, he was a little resentful that neither Sam  _nor_  Dean had noticed anything amiss in the past few weeks. Dean's apology had been appreciated, but the fact that they apparently couldn't tell him apart from an impostor with only the barest knowledge of his personality, despite still claiming him to be their best friend stung more than a little.

Castiel sighed and closed the book, laying it down on the desk. He should probably try and find something useful to do. If he wasn't distinctive enough personality-wise for the Winchesters then perhaps they would at least think he was helpful. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought. He was being irrational, he knew. He knew the Winchesters cared about him, he knew they knew more about him than anyone. They just had a lot of other things to worry about, what with their mother and Jack lost in Apocalypse World.

 _But really_ , he thought irritably to himself as he strode over to the door,  _I didn't think they were that gullible_.

He found Sam in the library, several books piled around his space like a fort. He looked frustrated as Cas walked in, squinting at a line of text and scratching his head.

"Find anything?" Castiel asked, his face suggested not but it didn't hurt to ask. Sam's expression softened into a weary smile, gesturing to the spare seat across from him. Castiel took it.

"Nope," Sam said, laying down the book in his hands, "I just can't really focus."

"It does seem to be a slow day." Castiel agreed. The hours had passed sluggishly from one to the next; with no progress to be had until Donatello uncovered that spell that they needed, Team Free Will was just trying to pass the time, Sam with research, Dean with meticulously cleaning and re-cleaning each of his weapons and Castiel with just trying not to be in the way.

He had noticed a slight shift in the dynamic between the brothers since he had come back, they seemed calmer, more in tune with each other, there were more smiles between them now, more understanding glances, more laughter; although he had noticed that Sam was treating Dean with almost excessive care, something which Dean seemed rather embarrassed by. Castiel wondered what had changed. It was nice to see them as more of a unit than they had been in a while, less heated arguments, less tension. Sam especially seemed lighter, completely focused on whatever task he set to.

"What are you looking for?" Castiel asked, peering at the cover of the book Sam had been reading, "The Book of Day and Night?"

Sam sighed, "I dunno, probably nothing. Just trying keep busy I guess. I can't just sit around watching Donatello inhale those wings."

"Dean seems to find it impressive."

Sam snorted, "he would. It's gross."

"It is rather… distracting." Castiel admitted with a wry smile. "You look tired." Indeed, the younger Winchester had a hint of shadow around his eyes and a slight gauntness to his features that made him look like he was recovering from an illness.

"Yeah. It's been a hell of a ride the past few weeks." Sam said. His lips twitched at Castiel's worried expression, "I'm alright, Cas, really. I'm better."

"I'm glad." Castiel said carefully, wanting to ask but not wanting to pry. The Winchesters could be very touchy about privacy.

"Turns out I just needed to get some things off my chest, you know?" Sam said after a few moments. "I was really struggling with Mom and Jack being stuck out there and what with Lucifer being back and all I kinda lost it a little."

"Well, if anyone's entitled to 'lose it' I'd say it's you." Castiel said, flicking his fingers in quotation marks for Sam's amusement. "You've been through a lot."

Sam shrugged off the sentiment. "No more than Dean has." He mumbled, then he shot the angel a look. "or you."

"It's not a competition, Sam,"

"No, I know."

"I spent a lot of time in Heaven trying to control my feelings if they seemed to diverge from the rest of the garrison, even more so once I came to Earth and those feelings became raw emotion. If I've learned nothing else from my time here, it's that what matters isn't how you feel, but what you choose to do about it. So what do you choose to do, Sam?"

Sam met his heavy stare for a moment before letting out a huff of laughter.

"I choose to get through it, and take the help offered so I can get back to saving the world."

Castiel nodded, hoping that his pride came through in his tone, "that's admirable. I hope you will consider me as help, should you need."

"Thanks, Cas." Sam said warmly, then his eyebrow quirked and a mischievous glint came to his eye, "what about you? What do you choose to do about what you feel?"

Castiel rolled his eyes at the knowing smirk on Sam's face, "I have chosen to accept what I can't control." He said after a moment, "and to avoid dishonestly."

"I think that's for the best." Sam said, his voice soft. "I should get back to my research. You know, Dean could probably use some help, he said he was going to make some more salt rounds in the armoury, we're down to our last couple of boxes."

Castiel flipped Sam a rude gesture as he stood and left the room, Sam's laughter following him out.

 

_***_

 

"Need any help?" Castiel asked, upon entering the armoury. Dean looked up from the desk, a nearly empty bag of rock salt in front of him and a few shells.

"Hey, Cas. Actually, if you could bring over that big bag, by that rack of rifles, yeah, that one. Thanks."

Castiel hefted the sack with ease over to where Dean sat, then he fetched his own stool. Dean used his knife to slice open the top of the sack, revealing more rock salt.

"I reckon if we get maybe half of these done," Dean said, nudging a large box by his feet that was three quarters of the way full of empty shotgun shells. "that should keep us going for a while. I don't think we really need them but…" he shrugged, "it's something to do, you know?"

Castiel said nothing, grabbing a handful of shell casings and lining them up on the edge of his space before selecting one to open and fill with salt. He soon settled into the routine of it, it was monotonous work, almost soothing in its repetition.

"You and Sam seem to be getting along better," he said after a few minutes, placing the salt round into one of the ammo boxes Dean had set on the table.

Dean glanced over at him, "yeah?"

"Although he still seems to be struggling with something." Castiel had seen the way Sam's smile sometimes dropped, heard him on occasion pacing restlessly in the middle of the night. Sam might have said he was doing better, but he wasn't quite the calm, rational presence that Castiel was used to, and that worried him.

Dean sighed and finished the shell he was holding before placing it in the box, then he picked up the next and opened it up.

"He's been having a hard time with Lucifer being back," he said, "but don't mention it, okay? He doesn't need everyone tiptoeing around him."

"I understand." Castiel said, "I can't imagine his memories of the Cage are at all pleasant."

"That's an understatement." Dean grunted.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, Dean didn't look his way, but apparently his silence was enough.

"We've been trying this new thing." Dean said eventually. "He told me about it. We talked it all out. Really talked, you know? He told me what it was like for him and it seemed to really help, you know?"

"Talking about trauma can be a catharsis." Castiel said, half-amused that the concept seemed a revelation to Dean.

"Yeah, well… like I said, it's helping."

"I'm glad."

Dean shot him a quick smile.

"So if Sam's the one going through the tough time, why is he acting as though  _you're_  the one that's going to fall apart?"

Dean glared at him, "you're way too observant for your own good, you know that?"

"I've been told," Castiel said, smirking slightly. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"I've not been-" he stopped at the look on Castiel's face and rolled his eyes, "I just knew that you'd wanna talk about it, that's all."

"Dean, if you don't want to talk-"

"No," Dean said, raising a hand, staring at the completed salt round on the table, "it's fine. I just… I told Sam about Hell.  _All_  of it."

It took Castiel a moment to realise what he was talking about, then his eyes widened. He breathed out a soft "Oh."

Surprisingly, that made Dean chuckle, although he still didn't look at him, "See, I knew you knew," he said, wagging his finger in Castiel's direction with a pained grin, "you had to."

"I didn't think you'd want to talk about it."

"I didn't."

"How did Sam react?"

"Hugs and sympathy, like always." Dean shrugged, but Castiel could see that he was anything but nonchalant. There was a deep gratitude in his tone, as though he hadn't expected Sam to still care about him. He probably hadn't. Castiel repressed a frustrated sigh, what would it take for Dean to see his own worth? How could this man, who would forgive his brother  _anything_ and who loved so deeply and cared so much, value himself as nothing more than what he could give?

"Are you glad you told him?"

Dean shrugged. "Not really."

Castiel nodded, filling a few more shells with salt while he waited patiently for Dean to work out what he wanted to say.

"I tried talking to you about it." Dean said eventually, "well… Asmodeus. On the phone."

Castiel started.

"You did?"

"Yeah I-" Dean paused, rubbing at the back of his neck, which was reddening. "Sam mentioned Alastair when venting his stuff about the Cage and I guess it kinda brought it all back, you know? And like I said, I was pretty sure you already knew so I though maybe talking to you about it wouldn't be such a big deal."

Castiel's lips twitched upwards, he was surprisingly touched that Dean had actually considered confiding in him, especially about something like this.

"What happened?"

"You… what I  _thought_  was you," Dean shot him a guilt-riddled glance before looking away again, "told me you were busy and hung up."

Castiel sighed softly, that couldn't have been easy for Dean to hear.

"I'm sorry." He said.

Dean turned to him, incredulous, "The hell are  _you_ sorry for? I knew you were acting weird but I didn't notice something was  _wrong_ , I just thought you were worried about Jack and didn't wanna deal with my crap."

"Dean, when have I  _ever_  dismissed you when you needed me?"

"Hah!" Dean said, jumping off the stool and pointing at him triumphantly, "you  _are_  pissed, I knew it!"

"No, I'm not-" Castiel said hastily, scrambling around for the words to placate Dean, to reassure him. But he was tired of pretending that it hadn't  _hurt_ , to come back and find out that they hadn't even been suspicious of the voice on the phone. He sighed, and opted for honesty, "Alright, I'm a little frustrated."

Dean nodded and sat again, expression sobering.

"You should be," he said, "there were so many signs and we should've done something."

"I don't need another apology, Dean." Castiel said, "I'm glad you didn't come for me, going up against Asmodeus unprepared only would have gotten you killed. I just-" he paused, eyes looking for inspiration from the ceiling for the right phrasing, "you and Sam have helped me so much, and you've taught me what it means to choose my own path in life, something that had never even occurred to me as a soldier of Heaven. If I thought about rebelling at all, it was as the worst possible fate, to be cut off from the divine, to not know your purpose… the whole idea was ludicrous, horrifying even. And I don't regret my Fall, not even a little." He stopped, unsure of how to proceed, he wasn't even positive what he was trying to say.

"But…?" Dean prompted.

Castiel sighed, " _But_. I don't appreciate you telling me that my judgement is off about Lucifer when  _you_  couldn't tell me apart from a Prince of Hell. I appreciate that he is eons old and that he is very skilled. But he is the exact opposite of what I stand for and I thought you knew better." He looked away then, to the sack of rock salt between them, "I thought I'd proven myself to be better."

"Cas-"

But Castiel cut him off with a gesture.

"Like I said, I don't need another apology. I know there were other factors at work as well and I don't blame you, not really. I just needed to say it aloud. Let's just move on." He picked out another empty shell.

"Alright," said Dean, returning to his own section of the work table, scooping spilled salt back into the sack, "if that's what you want."

They worked in silence for a while. Castiel glanced over at Dean, who was filling shells with a small crease between his eyes.

"What?" Dean asked, without looking up, sounding half-amused.

"Do you still want to talk?"

"About Alastair? You already know it all."

"What I know isn't the point. The point is what you want to tell me."

"How very therapist of you." Dean grumbled. "At least Mia was straightforward."

Castiel just raised an eyebrow in response, he wasn't going to dignify that with an answer.

"Look, I don't know what you want to hear from me. I know how screwed up it was, I even knew it then. It wasn't like I got all moon-eyed and drippy like I was on that love spell last week."

"You were under a love spell?" Castiel asked, momentarily distracted.

"Yeah," Dean said darkly, "damn witches. It kinda reminded me of him actually. I mean, I didn't act like that with Alastair, obviously, but there was that same tunnel vision. Like nothing mattered but what he wanted 'cause he was the one could make it bad or good or nothing at all." He sighed, passing a hand over his face.

Castiel said nothing. He wasn't sure his words were needed.

"Whatever," Dean huffed after a few seconds, "It's not like it was real anyway."

"Why do you say that?" Castiel asked, frowning as he recalled what he had felt while clutching Dean's soul in the pit, fending off demons while he fought his way to the opening he needed to return to the mortal world.

"Come on, Cas. He was… he was a  _demon_ , and he tortured me for decades and-"

"-and you loved him." Castiel finished firmly, feeling a slight twist in his gut as he recalled other things too, the things that Castiel had unconsciously drawn from the Righteous Man's memories, the things Alastair had done to him, the things he had made him do. "Don't disregard your feelings so easily. I felt it as soon as I laid my hand on you and it was real, Dean. It wasn't purely a manifestation of madness and torture. He meant something to you, something important. For better or worse, you loved him."

"It was  _wrong_." Dean insisted, "Everything about it was wrong."

"You are rather masochistic, Dean, are you surprised that you might seek out a sadist?"

"What are you saying, Cas?" Dean turned to him fully, anger and repressed pain in his eyes, "are you telling me that I deserved it?"

" _Never_." Castiel growled, appalled at the suggestion. "I'm just pointing out how strong you are."

"What?"

Dean looked so thoroughly confused that Castiel couldn't help but smile.

"Dean. You were in the darkest place a person can be. Decades of torture? Breaking was  _inevitable_. No one can endure that forever, especially with Alastair's… particular attention. And yet…" He reached a hand out to brush his fingers lightly against Dean's cheek, rough with stubble and Dean's eyes bored into his, "you did not break completely."

"What? Of  _course_ I did. I tortured thousands of souls, I was Alastair's puppet!"

"And yet, you loved him. You didn't give in to the hatred and the pain and the blood. You searched for the hope, for the only pure thing you could control."

"There was nothing  _pure_  about it!" Dean spat, his face screwed up in disgust. "You think I had control?  _Ever?_ You think that he didn't know  _exactly_  what he was doing when he was screwing me? You think that there was a single  _second_  I didn't hate myself for feeling what I did?"

"The feeling itself was pure, Dean, not what it came from. Alastair was the worst kind of demon, there was nothing redeemable about what he did to you and I will detest him for it to the end of my days, but this isn't about  _him_. What you had together was toxic and repulsive, an abomination. He abused you in the worst of ways. And yes, your love for him was tainted by that, it was fractured and half-motivated by survival but it was  _real_. And for you to feel  _anything_  true in a place like that, in a situation like yours, is nothing short of phenomenal." He paused and shook his head slightly, almost as though he still barely believed it. "And you came out of that still capable of kindness and love that  _doesn't_  revolve around control. Dean… you could lift a mountain and I'd be less impressed."

Dean's face had turned from revulsion to blank shock, his mouth hung slightly open.

"You're wrong, Cas," he said eventually, a bitter note to his voice. "I didn't feel what I felt because I was looking for hope, I felt it because there wasn't any. Once I'd given up there was no point in fighting for anything good. I was just taking what he gave me, like a damn dog begging for scraps." 

The venom in his tone took Castiel aback.

"Dean."

He waited for Dean to meet his eyes, they were guarded, which was even more glaring a sign of his vulnerability than outright fear.

"Your feelings are not to blame for what he did to you. The fact that you loved him does not excuse the pain that he inflicted; you have to separate the two in your mind. You deserve more out of love than what he gave you."

Dean stared at him for a long moment, his eyes flicking between Castiel's own as though determined to detect a lie. Then he looked away quickly, going back to the shells on the desk. Castiel noticed a slight trembling to his hands as he did so.

Castiel figured that he had said enough and returned to his work with the shells, allowing Dean to think over his words. He hoped he had chosen the right ones. Dean needed to stop blaming himself for Alastair's sordid acts. He had done more than just survive Hell, he had come through it with a reserve of strength he wasn't even aware of. Something that no other human could claim, alive  _or_  dead. Castiel glanced over to the Hunter with affection and was pleasantly surprised to see that a little of the shadow around his soul, the dark presence that had been there for as long as Castiel had known him, was gone. Lightened, ever so slightly. He felt his lips tug upwards at the sight. Good. That was definitely a start.

 

***

 

Once all the shells Dean had managed to scrounge up were filled with rock salt, Castiel helped him carry a few boxes out to the impala. When Dean had arranged them to his satisfaction in the car's trunk, he closed it up and turned to him, leaning against the car as he did so and Castiel mirrored him. He was in no hurry to go back inside; he hadn't had much of a chance to savour the outdoors since his incarceration and just filling his lungs with clean air was a privilege he hadn't yet returned to taking for granted. Dean settled himself more fully onto the trunk, sitting rather than leaning on the impala. The silence was comfortable, but, as many of their silences were, swimming with possibility. Castiel didn't mind, he listened to the birdsong in the distance, the scurrying of woodland creatures venturing too close to the treeline, the soft shushing sound of the wind as it toyed with his hair and clothing.

"So what's been eating at you?" Dean asked suddenly, breaking Castiel from his moment of peace. Castiel raised an eyebrow and shot Dean a look.

"Aside from the fact that Jack got trapped in another world while I was in a jail cell and have since learned that that world houses a determined, powerful and possibly deranged Archangel Michael?"

"Right." Dean said, "aside from that."

Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm fine, Dean."

"That's bull." Dean retorted, "come on, both me and Sam have aired all our dirty laundry. It's your turn."

"I'm not in need of therapy."

"Don't sell yourself short, Cas, you're plenty messed up too."

Castiel huffed a laugh. Dean shuffled over on the impala's trunk to nudge his shoulder.

"It is because we didn't figure out you weren't Asmodeus? Because I get it, you have every-"

"No, Dean, it's not that." Castiel said with a sigh. "At least, it's not  _just_  that. I understand how you wouldn't notice and I accept your apology but it may take me a little while to no longer… feel it, I suppose."

So…?" Dean prompted.

Castiel shook his head, smiling slightly at his friend's persistence, "it's nothing of consequence," he insisted, "I'm not even certain I could explain it if I tried."

"Try anyway?" Dean suggested.

He let out a chuckle, then sobered, staring into the trees, his mind working over how he could possibly explain all the nuances of what went on in his thoughts.

"Returning from the Empty gave me a new perspective on things." He began, "the Entity there tried to show me all my failings, my weaknesses. Every time my mistakes cost lives. But I found that I had forgiven myself those things. I realised that I have also done good here, with you. I have helped a lot of people. At least, a lot of  _your_  people, I still have much to atone for in Heaven." He let out a shaky sigh, remembering standing in a field scorched by the imprints of wings. His siblings decimated at his whim.

"I returned with the intention of building on my successes, of raising Jack and teaching him goodness, steering him away from whatever influence his father may have left in him. I returned with the knowledge that you needed me but not  _because_  you needed me. I returned because I  _wanted_  to. Because lying down and going to sleep sounded far too much like going backwards, like returning to the mindless soldier I was before I learned what choice meant and I wouldn't do it."

He paused. Dean said nothing, apparently letting the words wash over him, Castiel didn't look around to see his reaction. He worried at his bottom lip, a habit he had picked up when human and apparently been unable to completely shake.

"And I failed." He continued bitterly, "within the first week I lost Jack after I couldn't prevent him from killing someone; within the second I became Asmodeus' prisoner, unable to help you or anyone. Giving Asmodeus the opportunity to use you for information, and, as an unintentional consequence I'm sure, damage our friendship. And these past few days… Things are different now, you must have noticed. You and Sam have a new understanding and I no longer fit."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked carefully, apparently holding himself back from launching into an argument.

Castiel ordered the next few words in his head before speaking them.

"I've always been the outsider of this team, Dean. I knew that I would be from the moment that I wanted to join your cause. You've been looking after your brother for your whole life, you will support him and stand by him no matter what, no exceptions. For good or ill, that's how it has always been."

"And?"

"And I'm tired of trying to have that." Castiel sighed. He felt like he was revealing a secret he hadn't even known he was keeping. "I need to accept that there will always be conditions for me. There are limitations to our relationship. You expect more from me and that expectation has driven me to be better. But I think that I'm done trying to prove myself to you. I think that I have earned my place here. I'm sure you've noticed I've been more… confrontational lately, I've chosen to fight you on decisions that I never would have bothered with before." He smiled then and exhaled sharply, "I guess it's my way of trying to make a place for myself, or rather, adjust the proportions of my place to more comfortably accommodate me. And if that means that this no longer works," he gestured his hand to the entrance of the bunker, "then so be it."

There was a shocked silence. It went on for so long that Castiel finally turned to face the Hunter; his expression was stony, That wasn't what Castiel had expected.

"Are you saying you wanna take off?" Dean's voice was steady, cold.

"I'm saying that I want to belong. Wholly. And if that makes you and Sam uncomfortable then once we have Jack and Mary back I will leave. Either with Jack or without, as he wishes. Of course I will still assist you on cases and I hope I will be welcome to visit, but if my permanent residence is going to cause problems then I would rather avoid that."

"What do you mean you wanna belong?" Dean asked, sounding hurt. "You  _do_  belong here, Cas. I don't get what you're saying."

"I mean that I don't want to have to compromise myself in order to be who you think that I am." Castiel said slowly. "Home is supposed to be the place where you are accepted for your flaws and your past mistakes and the place where you are allowed to change. I  _want_  to change, Dean. Not big things, not really. But I want to learn what it is to be comfortable in one place. I want to have a say when we're choosing movies to watch, I want to be able to call shotgun and  _not_  get relegated to the backseat anyway. I want to learn how to cook. I want to decorate my room. And I've never said anything because they're pointless and petty and small and we have greater things to worry about, but I want them precisely for those reasons.  
"I want them because I want to be able to want them. And because I want to say 'screw you' to the part of me that hates the idea of wanting something so  _human_. Because I'm  _not_  human, Dean. No matter how broken my wings are, no matter how useless my powers, no matter what I  _feel_. I'm not human. You forget that sometimes and so does Sam. I may have chosen humanity but that doesn't mean I'm no longer an angel."

"I never forget that." Dean said quietly. "Not anymore."

Castiel turned to look at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the unyielding metal of the car. "Nothin'" he said, "Look, I can teach you to cook, alright? And we can take you into town and pick out some stuff for your room if you want. And I'll talk to Sam about the shotgun thing, he's just used to having the leg room, you know? And we can work out a rota for the movies and whatever else that's been bothering you. This  _is_  your home, Cas, if you want it. And you're right, you should have more of a say in things. I know that you get a lot of crap about being our  _pet_  or whatever but you know that that's not true, right? We like having you around and not just 'cause you're handy in a fight. You don't have to leave."

Castiel smiled fondly at the Hunter, who seemed to be deliberately avoiding his eyes.

"Leaving is the last thing I want to do." Castiel said gently, "I know that I have a tendency to follow a cause and that often leads me away." He paused and looked over towards the bunker door, invitingly open. Sam would probably have something to say about that when he noticed the draft inside. "But knowing that I have a place to come back to is important to me. I would like the opportunity to get used to it."

"That'd be nice." Dean said, almost wistful, as though he didn't believe that it would happen.

Castiel nodded, thinking the same thing. There were too many larger concerns that kept him away from the bunker. Following leads on Jack, travelling all over the country for cases, searching for ingredients for spells or ancient relics or weapons to defeat whatever evil had come to destroy them this time. But then, he supposed that that wasn't the point. The bunker may be a safe place to relax and plan and live but when Castiel thought of 'home' he didn't think of the bunker. He thought of the way that Dean hummed to himself as cooked, he thought of Sam's smile whenever someone went out of their way to do something kind. He thought of Jack's pride at being able to move the pencil. He thought of Dean's protectiveness and Sam's ferocity in a fight, he thought of long hours of planning and short snatches of joy and fun in between. He thought of playful bickering and fond insults and nicknames and hope. He thought of the Winchesters. His family.

"What did you mean about not forgetting I'm an angel?" He asked suddenly, his curiosity overcoming his knowledge that it was rude to pry. "You've treated me like a human for as long as you've known me."

"Doesn't mean I don't know different." Dean said, shrugging. "Besides, being an angel doesn't give you more of an excuse to be a dick."

"I suppose that's true." Castiel said, amused.

There was a short pause.

"I saw you, Cas." Dean said.

Castiel's head whipped around, "I thought you said you didn't remember-"

"Not in Hell, when I was a demon. When you had hold of me and I looked back, and it was just a glimpse. But then you locked me in the dungeon and you stood in front of me and I  _saw_  you."

Castiel didn't know how he felt about that. He had forgotten that just as he could see through to the demon inside of Dean, that he would have been able to see him in return. Castiel didn't like to think of Dean's demon face. It had been a terrible thing to behold. It had torn at his insides to see the Dean that he knew as that monster. For it  _had_  been a monster. It may have had Dean's memories and his human face and his voice, but there had been nothing  _Dean_  about it. Human Dean was warm and funny and insecure, he loved so deeply and never failed to be surprised to learn that he was loved in return. Human Dean was deadly and dangerous and unpredictable, he was brave and selfless and angry and guilt-ridden and afraid. Human Dean hated himself. The demon he had become had been so confident. His every movement aware of the power he possessed. His bravado had no longer been a front, his boyish charm had turned to arrogance.

He had frightened Castiel. The demon wasn't haunted by his past, wasn't weighed down with the burdens that no human should be made to suffer, he wasn't dismissive of his own wants or conflicted in his decisions. And Castiel had been repulsed by him. He was ashamed of himself for that. After all, hadn't Castiel himself hoped that Dean would learn some of those traits?

 _Not like that_  he argued with himself,  _Not without the balance of his goodness_. Even so, he worried. Not that Dean would suddenly lose his humanity if he forgot to hate himself for one damn second, but because he didn't want his pride of any progress Dean made to be tainted by Castiel's memories of that creature.

"Oh." Was all he said in return.

"Yeah," Dean breathed, oblivious to the angel's inner turmoil. "I remember hating it, but I hated everything then. Thinking back,  _picturing_  what you look like. I mean… wow."

"You probably shouldn't think about it too much." Castiel said, his cheeks felt hot at the awe in Dean's tone, "our true visage is difficult for humans to process."

"Also pretty freaking cool." Dean said. "Now that I've seen that, I  _can't_  forget that you're an angel. I look at you and…" he trailed off, "well… seeing and knowing are different things, you know?" he finished lamely, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"What do you mean?"

Dean sighed dramatically, half a groan really, as though he had known the question would come but he  _really_  didn't want to answer it.

"It was just easier when you were this dork in a trenchcoat who could teleport and heal people, you know? I mean, I  _knew_  you were an angel from on high, I know what you can do. But I saw what you  _are_." He gazed off into the treeline, a muscle in his jaw twitching, "It's made things different, I guess. Like Sam said."

"Why?" Castiel asked immediately. "I'm still the same, Dean. Whether I'm in my true form or whether I look like the man who was once Jimmy Novak. I've been in several vessels in my lifetime but that doesn't change  _me_."

"I know. But I guess it just hit home how…"

Castiel tried not to react as he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the crisp February weather. What had Dean realised? How broken he was? How alien? How  _wrong_? He must have seen the tatters of his wings, the scars that didn't show on this plane of existence.

"… _good_  you are. You gave that up for us. The other angels might never let you back into Heaven and you  _knew_  that and you helped us anyway."

"It was the right thing to do." Castiel said, in a matter of fact voice, although Dean's words had sparked something in his chest that had caused his throat to tighten with emotion. "I'd choose the same again."

"I know you would."

Castiel felt warm at the pride in his tone. Then Dean coughed awkwardly and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"So," he said, "while we're out here, while we're… sharing. Is there anything else you wanna talk about? Or have we covered everything that's been bugging you?"

Castiel shrugged. He wasn't sure what else there was to say.

"'Cause about the whole 'outsider' thing," Dean said, leaning back on his hands, "that's not how I see it."

"Oh?" Castiel turned fully, then, after realising that that position was particularly uncomfortable, gave up and pushed himself up onto the trunk too. Dean scooted over a little to make room. "How do you see it?"

"It's like, there's four groups here, you know?" Dean said, flicking his wrist in the direction of the bunker, "there's you and me, there's you and Sam, there's me and Sam and there's Team Free Will."

Castiel frowned, "I don't understand."

"We're all different when we're with different people," Dean said sagely, "I can tell you things I can't tell him, you and him talk about things that I wouldn't get, me and him have a lifetime of shared baggage, and put all of us together, we're unstoppable." He shot Castiel a confident smile that the angel knew was half-bravado.

"We're all the odd one out, Cas," he continued, "it just depends what group you're looking from. But that doesn't mean any of us are the weak link, because we all balance out."

"That's… surprisingly profound." Castiel said.

Dean grinned at him. "Not just a pretty face."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Dean. But I'm not sure I agree. We might balance well together, but if I were to be removed, you and Sam would find a new equilibrium."

Dean stiffened.

"Don't talk like that." He said.

"I'm just stating a fact. One that has recently been proven. And don't look like that," for Dean's face had clammed up again, the humour of a few moments before forgotten, "I'm not feeling betrayed or sorry for myself. I understand. And honestly, I'm a little gratified to know that if needs be, you would be fine without me."

"You don't know a damn thing." Dean said, it was almost a growl. He finally met Castiel's gaze, but there was anger in his eyes. A fire that Castiel didn't think was entirely warranted.

"Dean-"

"-No, Cas. You don't get to tell me that we would be fine. You weren't around when you weren't around. You didn't see us falling apart."

"I- I don't-"

"-You think we were  _fine_? I lit your pyre. We watched as your body as it burned. We were left with some freaky powerful kid who, as far as  _I_  was concerned, was the one who got you killed in the first place and we had to play happy families. Sam was trying so hard to hold us all together but I just couldn't. Because you weren't here to tell me to stop moping, to get up and fight anyway. When you were gone, I stopped believing in anything. I didn't think we'd be able to get Mom back, I didn't think we'd be able to stop Jack destroying the world, I couldn't save a kid on a simple salt and burn. So I checked out. I stopped trying. I was  _not fine_."

Dean's hands were clenched into fists and he was shaking, his breath fast and heavy.

"So don't you dare tell me what we are without you, because you don't know. You  _don't_. You're important here, Cas. We need you.  _I_  need you." The admission seemed to cost him something and he looked away again.

Castiel could only stare at him. His mind in turmoil, his mouth open. He closed it quickly and swallowed.

"I knew that you would have grieved for me, I just thought… in Dodge you were so happy. And with you and Sam communicating better-"

"I was happy because you were  _back_  you idiot!" Dean snapped. "I thought you were all the way gone. Of  _course_  I was happy to have my best friend back." He paused to take a deep breath. "So don't talk like it makes no difference if you're here or not 'cause it  _does_. And I'm not saying you shouldn't go off and do your own thing… I just mean that you can always come back."

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel said softly, touched by the outburst of emotion. "I appreciate that."

Dean snorted, "whatever." He said, leaning back against the glass of the car's back window.

Castiel copied him, manoeuvring himself so he sat next to Dean. They sat in a contented silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the calm of the cool day. Castiel noticed the hair on Dean's arms standing on end, but the Hunter didn't complain about being cold, so Castiel said nothing. Eventually, Dean shifted and he cleared his throat.

"I - um" he began, avoiding Castiel's eyes, "I'm glad I got to… you know, see you." He gestured towards the angel, a dark red flush creeping up his neck, "even if I was evil at the time."

Castiel looked at him. "Does it change anything?" he asked, suddenly worried. He didn't want Dean to treat him differently, he didn't want to think that he had cowed Dean into being deferential or agreeable by his true form.

"Yes and no."

Castiel frowned, waiting for Dean to elaborate, after a moment, he did,

"Alastair's true face didn't bother me. Like I was too far gone to even care that he was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen. But I knew that it  _should_  change something, you know? I knew that it  _should_ have made me change my mind, snap out of whatever I was feeling. It's a bit like that I guess."

"Oh," Castiel said after a moment, unsure how else to respond.

"I mean… you're freaking beautiful, Cas."

Castiel blinked a moment, and then his lips pulled upwards into a smile without his say so. Dean looked so  _flustered_. He knew that he was considered good looking as an angel. Even demons apparently could recognise it. He was used to the compliments and throwaway comments by now. But somehow, it felt so much more meaningful coming from Dean. Dean, who had no idea about what was considered aesthetically pleasing among angels, Dean, who had only ever seen ugliness from the otherworldly.

"Thank you." Castiel said, and he meant it.

Dean looked rather embarrassed, either at Castiel's tone or his expression, the angel wasn't sure. Nonetheless, he continued to talk.

"And it doesn't change anything. 'Cause you're still a clumsy, badass dork who can kick butt and speak cat and who likes the colour brown. Who  _likes_  the colour brown? It's weird."

"It's  _earthy_." Castiel insisted, his smile still toying at the edge of his mouth.

"It's the colour of crap, Cas."

He chuckled and settled himself more comfortably against the car so that he was practically reclining. The sky was starting to darken, the clouds slowly dissolving from view.

"But it also changes everything. 'Cause you're so much more than us, so much more powerful and so much  _better_. And you've had a crappy run but you never give up and all along you've been  _that_  and you still act as though  _we're_  important. As though any of this is more than just a blink to you. And you care so much, like we're worth your time."

A cold stone settled in Castiel's stomach.

"You're getting dangerously close to insulting me, Dean. I wouldn't fight with you if I didn't think you were worth it."

"And that's the part I don't get." Dean said. "There are other people in this fight, better people. Sure, we were the Ferrari of vessels or whatever, but when that passed you didn't need to stick around."

"Yes." Castiel said simply, "I did."

"Why?"

Castiel looked over at him, eyebrow raised, Dean's hands were twisting in the fabric of his plaid, his brow furrowed, the tips of his ears stained red.

"Because by the time Zachariah made me choose, I was too far gone too."

Dean's eyes jerked to his, he gazed back steadily, watching as emotions flickered in the green, too fast for Castiel to be certain of any of them, and yet he knew them all.

"It didn't matter that I knew I was betraying orders, it didn't matter that my siblings thought I had gone soft, it didn't matter that I knew I would outlive you by centuries, or that what I felt was wrong." His voice cracked as he looked at Dean, stared into that beautiful soul, so conflicted, so burdened, so fragile. "None of it mattered because it was real. And I had already made my choice. The first choice I'd ever been free to make."

Dean shook his head as though he didn't understand, or as though he didn't want to. Castiel smiled sadly and looked back up at the sky, watching as the light faded, feeling his human eyes adjust to the change, even as his enhanced sight didn't need them to. He let the words hang in the air between them and Dean could accept them or ignore them as he wished.

Like he had told Sam, he had chosen to accept the things that he couldn't control. Dean wasn't to be controlled, he was to be  _experienced._ The good and the bad, the sarcasm and the wit and the intelligence that he didn't like to admit he had, the scars from his childhood and the brightness of his smile, the insecurities he held onto and the ones he had let go. Castiel counted himself privileged to know that Dean cared for him, thought of him as family. It was more than enough.

"Castiel."

He looked around at the choked voice. Dean had wrapped his arms around his knees, staring straight ahead.

"You made the wrong choice."

Castiel tilted his head, tracing Dean's profile with his eyes. He couldn't help the soft smile that tugged at his lips.

"Perhaps," he said mildly, "But I don't think there was a wrong choice. I was already going to help you. Choosing to love you was something different. Nonetheless, it was my choice to make and I haven't regretted it for a moment."

"You're too stubborn for your own good." Dean mumbled.

He laughed, "I won't argue with that."

"I should have bowed out of this conversation when I had the chance, shouldn't I?" Dean said with a forced chuckle, shifting awkwardly.

Castiel raised an eyebrow, "Why? Nothing's different. I'm not telling you that I love you because I expect anything, Dean. I'm just trying to be more honest."

"Cas, how is this  _not_  going to be awkward from now on?"

"If you don't make it awkward then it won't be awkward." Castiel said, a hint of impatience in his tone, "honestly Dean, you're acting as though I just tried to redefine the word 'pie' to mean 'cake'. I stated a fact, that's all, and you can do what you want with it. Nothing has changed." He sighed, heavily, "but if even this knowledge is a step too far, then my offer to leave still stands. Once we have Jack and Mary back."

"No, don't-"

"I'm done hiding, that's all. I'm not afraid of how I feel. Your reciprocation isn't necessary. I'm not going to follow you around everywhere, or agree with everything you say, or neglect my duty to you and Sam or Jack; I'm not going to mope because you don't feel the same way. I'm not going to _change_  for you, Dean. I've never changed for you, I've only ever changed  _because_  of you. My decisions remain my own, as your decisions remain yours." He made to slide off the impala so he could return indoors, "so if you want to act like this is a betrayal of some kind then fine, but don't expect me to lie any longer because loving you is a part of who I am and-"

"Cas!" Dean interrupted, "Just… shut up!"

Steaming, Castiel fell silent. Then, having successfully planted his feet on gravel, he folded his arms and turned back to Dean, who looked baffled and overwhelmed. He softened slightly, some of his anger retreating. He supposed it would have been too much for him to expect Dean to take this in his stride. Not long ago, they had been talking about how Dean's love for Alastair had affected him, robbing him of all control, leaving him floundering in the dark.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said gently, "how would you like to proceed?"

"I- what?"

"What would you rather I do?" Castiel asked, "I can leave if you wish, or I can stay. I can avoid you, I can never mention this topic again, or we can act as though this conversation never took place. If you like, I can alter your memories so that as far as you will know, this conversation  _didn't_  take place; we can discuss it some more or I can try to answer any questions you have, or if it makes things easier we can shelve this discussion for another time. Those are the only things I can think of right now but it's not a complete list. What do you want?"

"I- I don't know." Dean said, brow creased in frustration.

"That's alright."

The angel uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands into his pockets instead, leaning back against the car's taillight. Waiting.

It might have been about ten minutes before Dean spoke again.

"It was easier when Alastair made these decisions for me."

"It's always easier to go along with a decision you know is wrong," Castiel said, thinking back to his own days in the garrison, "especially when you're made to believe you're not in a position to decide." He glanced over at Dean with a small smile, "I don't want to decide for you, Dean. I want to work out a solution that works for us both."

"I don't want you to leave." Dean blurted out. "And I don't want you to mess with my memories."

Castiel nodded, relief coursing through him, unbidden. He really hadn't wanted to erase this conversation form Dean's mind. It would have felt too much like lying, like undoing some undefinable progress.

"As for the rest of it… well… we can't. We just can't, right? Isn't it against some heavenly law or whatever?"

"We could if you wanted to." Castiel said slowly, not as an offer or an implication, only as a statement. "I doubt very much that one more heavenly law broken will make any difference, considering who we are."

"But… what about…?" Dean spluttered,

"Dean, please," Castiel said, holding up a hand, "you don't need to make excuses. I don't expect you to want our relationship to change that way. You don't have to have a reason, the fact that you are opposed is enough."

Dean was silent for a few moments.

"Thanks, Cas." He said finally, "that- that means a lot."

Castiel grunted. But he was glad that Dean seemed to finally understand.

"I'm not opposed."

The angel jerked his head up suddenly, certain he had misheard, "Excuse me?"

Dean gestured between them, "This whole… thing. Whatever it is. I've seen it coming. Though I'm pretty sure Sam figured it out before I did. I know how we act around each other, the way you look at me. When you died…" he swallowed hard as though holding back a flood of emotion, "when you died, I practically fell apart. And it wasn't  _just_  because you died, but because I resented Jack and Mom was gone and even though we'd trapped Lucifer, it didn't really feel like we'd  _won_ , you know? And there was all this crap in my head about all the stuff we never talked about. The stuff we just ignored 'cause it was easier or 'cause we never had the time or… And all I could think about was how many chances I've had to change things. But I was never ready, I never wanted to admit that you mean a lot to me. That you keep me sane. That you're the  _one_  person I trust to watch mine and Sammy's backs. Because if I admitted it, then I'd be comparing you to Alastair. Because that's what that kind of love is for me. And it makes no sense because you're like, the exact opposite of him. And you deserve someone  _clean_."

"After all  _I've_  done? Murdered hundreds of my own kind? Tried to ascend to the rank of God? Allowed myself to be manipulated by Crowley and Lucifer? Dean, deserve has nothing to do with it."

"Whatever! I'm just saying, I've had time to think about it."

"And?" Castiel bit back the frustration in his tone. He wasn't annoyed at Dean in particular, more at their cyclical situation.

"And I could let myself want it when you weren't here to want it too." Dean said, turning red. "But you're back now and I don't know how to anymore. It's like I can only picture it when I know it can never happen. At least that way I can't screw it up."

"I don't know how to fix that." Castiel said, almost desperately. He wanted a conclusion to this conversation, he wanted a resolution. He was tired of feeling Dean's longing, of feeling his own, without having a direction to channel it. He needed to focus on finding a way to help Jack and Mary and he couldn't do that when every time he looked at Dean, a plethora of 'maybes' started dancing under his skin. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you to stay!" Dean yelled, clearly as frustrated as Castiel, "I just want you to be here. And I want you… I want you to know how I feel about you." He shoved a hand out towards Castiel, palm up, as though offering him something, Castiel frowned, confused.

"I want you to read my mind, Cas." Dean said. "Just this once, right now. I want you to understand."

Castiel took the offered hand. It wasn't truly necessary for the process of what Dean was asking but he figured it was more a symbolic gesture. Dean's hand was warm and slightly damp in his own. Their fingers locked together, almost automatically. Castiel wanted to admire how wonderfully crafted they were together, skin on skin, but he didn't have the time. He gently pulled Dean towards him, across the trunk of the impala, then locked eyes and  _looked_.

He was almost overwhelmed by the cacophony. Flashes of memories, fragmented thoughts, images jumbled together and tangled with threads of emotion. And Castiel felt. And he understood.

He drew back, not wanting to invade Dean's privacy any more than he was allowed to. Dean was breathing hard, his hand gripping Castiel's own tightly.

Castiel was overcome with a rush of affection for the man before him.

"May I return the favour?" He asked. "I would like for you to understand also."

Dean met his eyes, unsure. But he trusted Castiel, so he nodded. Once more, Castiel deepened his gaze. But instead of looking, he  _showed_. He opened his own mind to Dean and heard a sharp gasp. After a few moments he broke the connection and he was once more leaning against the trunk of the impala, his hand clasped with Dean's, the Hunter's pulse thumping out the most precious of rhythms. He unlaced their fingers and gently pressed Dean's hand back to the Hunter's chest. He didn't want to confuse Dean further, he had only wanted for Dean to feel the same understanding that he did. Dean's eyes were wide and shocked, and, surprisingly, full of tears.

"I'll come to you." Dean promised gruffly, though the tone was softened by the sincerity in his voice. "I will. When I can think about this without hating myself for it."

"Take your time." Castiel said, removing his hands. Dean let out a soft sound that Castiel hadn't known him capable of making. It made him want to wrap his arms around the Hunter and shield him from the world. But he knew that Dean would not appreciate that, so he settled for a calm smile. "I'll be here." 

**Author's Note:**

> So... what do you think?
> 
> Apparently I am incapable of not bringing the focus around to Dean. So I'm sorry about that, I really tried to keep it on Cas.
> 
> I tried to capture the Cas we've had in the past couple of episodes, more confident, more sure of himself, healthier. I hope this came across.
> 
> All thoughts and feedback are hugely adored and appreciated.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


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